221 Baker Wing?
by TheGullibleOne
Summary: Sherlock and John take a break from London, and to celebrate John's birthday. Thing is, Sherlock picked the hotel. And so things don't go according to plan... especially when some strange things begin to spring up across the hotel. Will change title. R


**AN: Well! hello there! um... I should really update my other stories... But I couldn't get this out my head... Should be a lot cheerier than my other fics... So... Enjoy!**

"This is it..?" John stared blankly at the hotel room before him, "Sherlock, please say we've got the wrong one..."

"No, it's the right room... Room 221. Baker Wing, Floor 5."

"You're joking, right? I mean, 221 _Baker_ Wing?"

"John, please. You know I hate it when you repeat everything I say..."

"Yeah, but, 221 Baker Wing?"

"_Yes!_"

"Right... Well... It was just - odd. Because we live in 221 Baker _Street_, and now this is _B-_"

"-Oh, will you just _stop it_?"

"Sorry..."

"You don't like it, then."

John sighed, and hustled himself into the bare room, lugging his suitcase behind him. Eyeing the double bed warily, he sat himself upon the edge, and grimaced as the mattress creaked beneath his weight.

"It's, well, it's the room... it's not what I was, uh, expecting... that's all..."

"Hmm," Sherlock said as he began examining the room, "I see why. It's not the place you'd have thought I'd pick, due to being a relation to Mycroft after all, and for it to be as-"

"- Disgusting."

"- I was going to say unsuitable, John, for our needs. Don't interrupt me again." Sherlock opened the bathroom door, and cranned his head inside. He immediantley pulled out, cringing from the smell, "As I was saying, for it to be _unsuitable_ for our needs, since it's small and only has one bed. There's hardly any room for the two of us, and then there's the-"

"-Smell. urgh... _Please_ - don't get me started..."

"- JOHN! For gods sake! I was going to say the _Bathroom_! The sink is cracked, and the shower has no curtain, unless of course you count the small piece of thread hanging from the top. And by the looks of it, the toliet looks-"

"-Filthy?"

"... _The toilet_ looks _unusable_, not sure what's wrong with it, but something looks sinister about it..." He walked over to the window, pulling the curtains aside, "the view, though, is quite nice, you can see the Statue of Liberty in the distance..."

"That doesn't make up for anything."

"And they call _me_ the annoying one." Sherlock sat himself beside his sulking flatmate, whincing as the mattress creaked once more under the added weight. "Look, John..."

"What?"

"You didn't complain about there being only one bed..."

"And?"

"So you _want_ to share..."

"What? _No!_ I'll-" John paused, glancing around the room for another option, anything to not share a bed with _him,_ "I'll take the sofa..."

"Like that will do you good."

"Oh, come on... I'm not _sharing _with _you_!"

"Why not? I can't see any harm.."

"But we're two men! Flatmates, friends! Sharing a bed is just... is just-"

"-Weird?"

"Exactly!"

"Do you usually resort to childish behaviour in a foreign country, John?"

"No! It's just... Just..."

"Spit it out, I haven't got all day you know, who knows, there might be some crime to solve..."

"Nevermind... Just - leave it." John sighed, "Shall we unpack then?"

"Fine."

An hour later, and the belongings of the two Englishmen were packed neatly away into the drawers beside the window. Not one had said a word to the other, not even when they had accidentally mixed up the cases, or when one came across a hidden jar of eyes - _"experiment_" - amongst their pile of socks. But once they had finished, each turned to face the bed in unison. Annoyance flickering across each of their faces as they faced their new obstacle.

"So..."

"Hmm...?"

"The bed."

"Oh, right."

"I don't sleep - much."

"I know, Sherlock."

"So... you might as well take it."

"Right."

"You can speak more than one syllable, John, stop playing this stupid game."

"... I wasn't playing any game..."

"Of course you wasn't."

"Will you just _stop_ _it_, Sherlock? I thought we were going to have a nice holiday, a break from London, and to celebrate my _birthday, _Sherlock - do you remember? Live in a nice, comfortable hotel for two weeks, and not have a room that looks as if people were _murdered_ here... It's like one of those horror stories, where trav-"

"You're rambling."

"Oh, shut it. I'm going out."

"Where? You don't know New York..."

"Just out! Fresh air!"

"The pub down the road then... Don't get lost."

"I won't."

"Right."

"Bye Sherlock." John said as he slammed the door shut, leaving Sherlock alone in Room 221. He sighed, perhaps John was right, the hotel was _awful_... Not a great place to spend a holiday.

Maybe he could surprise John? Get a different hotel? No. Too expensive. Boring.

He looked at the mirror and frowned as his reflection waved at him. Ok, maybe the place _was_ weird...


End file.
